And in your moment of imperfection I realize how you became perfect in my eyes – not for pretending to be everything that I wanted but for being simply you, a man who loved an imperfect person like me.

I doubt our story is as unique as we both believe it to be. That hardly seems possible. After all, there are 7 billion people in the world and billions more living before. Billions – that’s a huge number in itself and almost everyone in that statistic has a story about a love they wished to share.

But yours and mine – ours is what I have come to cherish the most. Counting all the people who entered and left our lives, I believe this story, is the story I feel most proud in sharing.

You are not perfect. You are not six foot two with a genius IQ who can rattle off quotes from the best literary minds. You do not shower me with gifts, you do not praise me at every turn and you do not clap whenever I enter the room.

And that is what makes you my perfectly imperfect man.

You do not bend to my will or force me to bend to yours. You have been and continue to be someone who stays strong by my side and supports me, believing in my capacity to grow. You let me be independent. You let me strong or weak as I choose to be. At the same time, you are there to make sure I do not grow too full of myself or be too mocking of my insecurities. Thank you.

What you are, is someone stable and strong and firm.

You are the man, who I did not believe I would find but found anyway. And whenever you tell me no, and I start to whine about how I never get what I want; you remind me that instead I got what I needed.